


Experimental

by asterclouds



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Bartenders, Drinking & Talking, Francis and Antonio are both terrible at this by the way, Francis needs some fun, Friends Evening Out, He might just find it, Implied Relationships, M/M, Names, Other, cocktails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23698393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterclouds/pseuds/asterclouds
Summary: Francis only wanted to go out for some drinks with friends, but he ends up finding more than just a new experimental cocktail bar. For once, he's glad he let someone else decide where to go.❈ * ❈ * ❈ * ❈ * ❈✎ Main pairing: FraSpa/Frain✎ Rated for language and mild sexual references
Relationships: Belgium/Hungary (Hetalia), France/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Experimental

After a long week of trying to meet deadlines and get fresh work published ready for distribution, it was safe to say that this editor was in need of a good de-stressing. Francis had had a quiet evening in mind, filled with a hot bath, some chocolate and a film, but his colleagues and dear friends had had a very different action plan: go out and get drunk. In reality, he had needed little persuasion. They all knew they needed it while they had a free weekend to recover from any and all misadventures that evening. Though, how much damage could really be done? It was only seven o'clock.

It had been Feliciano's idea to try out this new place that had only just popped up on the radar. The name of the bar escaped the Frenchman, despite having been told it at least four times already, but the promise of cocktails and experimental mixers were enough to appease him. There was no quicker way to get drunk than to mix several types of alcohol together, after all. Not that he _liked_ getting that inebriated. He just... Wanted some fun! To let his hair down!

So, there they were, stood outside a charming space on the corner of the street. Across the road was a green space with the strange fish-shaped fountain, and down the way was the local church ( _Lord, forgive us for what debauchery we may or may not commit this fine eve_ ). How new was it? He couldn't recall seeing it the last time he had been at this end of town; but then, did he even remember what had been there before?

The quintet, led by a lively-as-ever Feliciano, entered the whitewash building. What Francis hadn't expected after seeing the outside area, in all its minimalist glory, was a sudden eruption of colours and lights. Wooden panels that were painted all colours of the rainbow covered the interior walls, almost like repurposed driftwood (creative and sustainable, at least), and the bar had an identical design. He would have called it 'tiki' had he not been so cultured. No, it certainly didn't fall into such a category, he conceded; Latin music was feeding into the main room and the rather prominent _'Cuba Libre_ ' that had been painted onto the only plain wall in sight was a giveaway. This was the Caribbean, not Polynesia.

It was still charming, in a way. Perhaps not entirely to his more refined taste, but it was perfectly sufficient, and the small gathering of people laughing and socialising around the bar was sign enough that Feliciano had made a good choice. He figured it would only get busier. The two people he spied behind the bar were going to be pushed to the limit.

"Come on, we can sit outside," Emmeline said breaking his train of thought and grabbing Erzsébet’s hand and dragging her towards the door without any warning.

Francis, Gilbert and Feliciano could only follow with their quiet, shared laughter. Those two were on a level of their own but their connection was special and sweet, and Francis was the only one who saw it for what it was. He would have to enquire… _Ah, relationships…_ He hadn’t had one of those since he had left university. A slightly distant expression lingered on his face, but just as soon as it had appeared, it vanished again as he was captivated by what had already stolen the girls' attention in the garden.

Bushes lined the wooden fence that shut them off from the rest of the city, all decorated with trails of lights and little Cuban flags hanging out from the foliage here and there. At the far end was a veranda, set with a few tables (already filled, it appeared), lit up by candles and a plethora of red, white and pink flowers. Closer to where the group stood, heat lamps, hibiscus plants and potted banana trees gave off a more warm and tropical vibe, and the music that hung in the air only sealed the deal.

A holiday to the Caribbean suddenly sounded really, really nice.

"Look how pretty it is!” Emmeline voiced for all of them. “So many lights and flowers, and it's so cosy and colourful!"

"I told you all, _cari_ , this place would be worth it," Feliciano only beamed in response. He was clearly quite proud of himself. "You have to trust me more on these things!"

He was the first to sit down in the section of outdoor seating they had silently claimed for themselves. Cushions lined the sofa-like seats, and they slowly gathered around the square table, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere of the outdoors for a moment before they did anything else.

"So, first thing's first," Erzsébet said, "does anyone plan on going out after this? Or are we all just sticking to this one location?"

"I can't be out too late, I have some family thing to attend tomorrow," Feliciano replied first, a sheepish smile on his face. "I think it would be a good idea to be as not-tired or -hungover as possible." Sometimes the Italian sounded far too sensible for his own good.

"Same here, actually," Emmeline then piped up. "My brother is coming to visit tomorrow and his flight gets in kind of early. It wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't volunteered to pick him up from the airport!"

"You did so out of the kindness of your heart and your sibling bond," Francis assured her all the same. "As it stands, I do not plan to be out all night, either. Midnight is my limit. I need some sleep after the hellish week we’ve had.”

"Aw, Franny, you've got to be kidding me!"

"Sorry, Gilbert. If you want to go out afterwards, it seems you may be on your own," the blonde said with a somewhat unapologetic tone. The guy was his best friend, of course, so he could understand that he probably wanted some company, but he just wasn't feeling it, and that was okay. "Unless our dear Liz wishes to go with you, but I have a funny feeling that won't be happening."

"You know me so well," the Hungarian responded accordingly with a smug grin.

Gilbert was the only one not amused.

But, in spite of a lack of solidarity between friends in terms of their willingness to go out and get hammered (and laid), they could at least all agree that it was time to grab some drinks and get started on a somewhat less intense evening of alcohol-induced behaviour.

It was rather busy outside and they didn't doubt it would only get busier as the evening progressed, so it seemed unwise to leave their table unattended for the sake of alcohol. Francis suggested that the girls ( _strong, bold, independent women_ ) go up first since they had made their minds up quickly about what they wanted, and they certainly didn't protest. That left the boys to their own devices for a while.

"I seriously can't believe neither of you assholes want to come out afterwards," Gilbert maintained as Erzsébet and Emmeline vanished into the vibrant indoors. "Who's gonna be my wingman?"

That certainly made Francis scoff. "You're the last person who needs a wingman. You're not even that smooth or subtle yet you never fail to find someone who’ll cling to you," he remarked. Somehow, the guy had managed more flings than Francis had, and none of them understood how (not that Gilbert was a bad or undeserving guy, of course). "It's a talent you have. If we came with you, we'd surely ruin your chances."

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"Actually, I think he's right." _Ah, thank you, Feliciano_. "You don't need us, Gil. You do a fantastic job on your own! People can barely keep their eyes off you!"

"Aww, Feli,” Gilbert drawled out, throwing a hand on the Italian’s shoulder, his ego having been rather easily satisfied for the next hour. “I’d turn red if I didn’t already know that to be true!”

“As modest as you are confident.” Francis gave him a smile but rolled his eyes all the same. They were all quite used to him and his ways by now that such things seldom fazed them. “If you do go out, though,” he added, “you’ll have to fill me in. I want any and all gossip you make!”

“I’ll write you a thorough, detailed report and send it to you by noon, don’t you worry,” came a chuckled response. "Juicy deets included!"

Emmeline and Erzsébet soon returned and Francis told Feliciano and Gilbert to go on ahead because he hadn’t made a decision yet and he was too comfortable under the warmth of a heat lamp. When the pair left and the remaining trio were settled again, the Frenchman looked to them both with a smile – and a knowing one at that.

“When were you planning on telling us all then?”

It was simple enough question but it made Emmeline nearly knock over her glass as she was setting it down. Erzsébet was much less bothered by it.

“Does it matter? It’s our personal business,” the Hungarian said, leaning back into the cushions. “We’ll share when we want to. Not when someone else decides for us.”

Francis conceded with a certain look and shake of his head. “It is personal, of course, until you bring it into the public sphere, Liz. Not everyone is as blind as Gilbert.

“Is it really that obvious? I think that’s the more important question,” Emmeline mumbled from in between the both of them. She seemed a little uncomfortable, or at least, more quiet than normal. “Not that it’s a problem if it is, of course, but… Well… It’s a small company and— I don’t like being part of the circling gossip.”

“As you say, it’s not for me to share, so you can be sure that this conversation is staying between us,” Francis assured them both – Emmeline in particular. “Really, I just wanted to say, I’m happy for you! I’ve been waiting for months for you two to do more than just look at each other over monitors and chat over coffee, you know.”

Emmeline coughed up some of her drink and Erzsébet only shook her head, amazed at the other’s audacity. “You’re incredible, you know that?" she said. "I mean, _months_? I don’t think even _we_ thought anything like this would happen months ago.”

“There’s a reason I moved Feliciano so that you two shared the same desk space.”

“Oh my god, you sly fu—!”

“You have some weird sixth sense when it comes to this sort of thing, don’t you?” Emmeline remarked with a meek laugh.

She wasn’t wrong. Francis had been orchestrating situations and helping people find a good match ever since he was fifteen. Meddling was in his nature. And yet, as much as he was able to help others, he was yet to find the right match for himself. All he had been able to do was get himself into short-lived relationships that, in the end, had fallen apart because it turned out there was no real connection between him and his partner. Since university, the single life had been the only life he’d known. He'd had a one-night stand here and there, a quick bit of fun, a cheeky kiss... But otherwise, his world was void of anything close to love.

So, when the opportunity to match-make arose at work back ten months ago, how could he resist? It was hardly like he had forced them together! At the very least, he had hoped the girls would form a strong friendship. It was mere luck, he would profess, that more had come from it.

The conversation didn’t last for much longer after that. Feliciano and Gilbert reappeared and that was their cue to drop the subject in order to protect it, and the quintet was made whole again.

“Those guys are nuts,” Gilbert said as he took his seat on the other side of Erzsébet, setting down two glasses for himself. “You can tell they love their job, they’re having a party back there.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” the Frenchman had to ask, however. He was out of the loop.

“The guys behind the bar,” Feliciano told him. “They’re in their element, you can tell. For a place that has so much on offer, and so much ‘wow’ to it, they make it seem effortless. It’s impressive!”

“I suppose that means I should go and check it out, hm? Any drink recommendations?” the blonde remarked as he got up. No one replied to him as he had expected them to, and he paused to look at them with a curious look. “The drinks aren’t that bad are they?”

Emmeline was the quickest to defend them. “No, no! Not at all!”

“Just go to the bar,” Erzsébet added, “and they’ll hook you up with the right one.”

“Like I said, it's impressive!”

“Alright, well…” Francis didn’t know how else to respond other than to just follow their advice and go for it. He would find out what had got them all so stirred shortly. “I hope you’re all right.”

Leaving them to it, then, it was his turn to go and grab a drink. He hadn’t actually had a chance to look at the menu but he didn’t imagine it would take him too long to pick something from the list when he got to the bar.

And how wrong he was.

Things had calmed down a bit and Francis was able to get a seat at the bar, but as soon as he lifted up the list of drinks, he realised just how out of his depth he was. There must have been well over thirty different options, organised by the alcohol base, and then three pages later was another painfully long list of mocktails. There was only a handful of drinks here he was familiar with, and even then, he seldom drank anything that wasn’t wine or gin so he was quickly lost in a jumble of ingredients.

This was why they had said the bartenders would ‘hook him up’. There was no hope in Heaven of him working this out alone!

Martinis, sours, shooters, house specials… How were these guys able to remember every single drink and every single combination? Francis spared the pair a glance and saw them having a little dance and sing-along to the music as they were making drinks, the sound of ice on glass joining the instrumental along with the odd cheer of impressed women as a bottle was flipped in the air. That must take a lot of practice to master; if he tried it there would be a mess on the floor within seconds, no doubt.

But they were enjoying it. Francis was somewhat envious of that. He wished he could enjoy his work more than he did, because as much as he loved the industry and the life of magazine work, it had its boring days, its painful days, its horrible days that made him want to drown in more than just a bottle of wine when he got home—

“Have you managed to make a decision or would you like some help?”

The voice pulled Francis from his running thoughts and he looked up from the menu sat idly in front of him, only to be faced with a smile, bright eyes, and a mop of hair that needed neatening up _but he would have to resist that urge to fix it, damnit, stop staring at his hair!_

“Some— Some help would be good,” he said with a sheepish smile, laying down the menu on the bar. “I don’t even know where to begin, there’s far too much choice.”

“There’s no such thing as too much choice,” the bartender replied. But he was amused by the comment rather than offended, and he seemed more than willing to give the Frenchman some help. “Come on, let’s start with the most important thing: what’s your name?”

He would have choked on a drink if he had been able to pick one. “Well, you can call me Francis… But why’s that the most important thing?”

“Because names are important,” the brunette stated, his smile lighting up more somehow. Francis wasn’t sure what to make of the declaration – or him – but he went with it anyway. “Now, what sort of base would you like? Rum, vodka, whisky, gin, wine…?”

“Wine is normally my go-to when drinking. I’m not really used to mixing things like this so—”

“How does something sparkly sound?”

“Something… _Sparkly_?”

“You seem like a sparkly wine kinda guy,” the bartender remarked with a light shrug. He wasn’t wrong. “If you get on alright with vodka, there’s something I can make you with champagne, vodka and pineapple juice? It’s this thing called a flirtini, from a movie or something. Ooh, _or_ , I can substitute vodka for lime juice if you prefer?”

The information was passed on so rapidly that he felt he missed a few details, but Francis gave a bemused smile all the same. The other was rather enthusiastic and bouncy in his words and small movements as he spoke, it was sort of… Sweet. What _wasn’t_ sweet, however, was the thought of mixing champagne with pineapple juice. That was just _criminal_.

“Maybe something not quite so… Pineapple-y?” he suggested (there was no need to profess the mild outrage he felt at the suggestion of tainting perfectly good champagne).

Though, even though it had been a perfectly reasonable response, Francis couldn’t help but notice a slight (and sudden) fluster in the other. He seemed to be really pushing himself to think of something else that was a viable option. The way he tapped his fingers on the menu, eyes focused on upside down words and his teeth just _ever so gently_ digging into his bottom lip was quite adorable, but the intensity within those eyes was what stood out most. They weren’t just green and they weren’t just bright; they were overflowing with determination and passion and knowledge that Francis only wished he had when it came to his own work.

“Alright, how about something with passion fruit, peach or strawberry?” the brunette eventually suggested.

“Like a smoothie?” the blonde joked.

“No, no,” the other responded with a quick laugh, “I just want to work out what… What flavours you like. I’m guessing nothing too exotic or citrussy if pineapple isn’t your sort of thing?”

_Exotic would be a breath of fresh air compared to what I’ve had in the past._

It only then occurred to Francis that he hadn’t asked the other’s name.

“I just don’t like pineapples,” he gave for a short answer, but he had to jump in to stop the bartender from suddenly rambling on again about different options so he could remedy his mistake. They looked at each other for a moment, each looking for a different type of sign to speak; Francis was the first to see his. “Before you go on any further, am I allowed to ask you a question?”

“You just did!”

Francis matched his shameless grin. “What’s your name? You asked me, but you never told me yours in return,” he said.

“Antonio. I, uh, co-own this place,” came his longer-than-expected answer. Antonio extended a hand over the bar to the other, and Francis took it in his and shook it amicably. The gesture made the brunette smile just a little more. “Sorry, it completely went over my head! You should have said something sooner, now I feel like an idiot!”

“Oh no, don’t say that! There’s no harm done, it’s just nice to know who I’m talking to,” Francis replied in an attempt to soothe his worries. Bless him, Antonio couldn’t have been much of a different age to him, but he came across as a young, wild, all-over-the-place hurricane. “Pleasure to meet you, Antonio.”

“And you, Francis!”

It took both of them a moment to realise that neither had let go, and Antonio took his hand back sheepishly, a quiet apology slipping past his lips. The blonde dared to think a slight redness had appeared on his face, but he saw no need to make a comment. After all, for all he knew, it could simply have been the lighting in the bar and the colours around them messing with him… _Ah_ … He slowly breathed out and leaned on the bar side as a switch flipped in the other’s brain and he went back to work-mode.

“Alright, anyway – pineapple is off the cards, which means no piña coladas for you,” the brunette mused aloud, lips slightly pursed as he began to reel of more ideas.

Francis listened intently to the list of cocktails offered to him, all of which sounded to be a mix of tropical, bizarre and utterly ludicrous. But, this place _was 'e_ xperimental', and if he had one of the owners and all his knowledge in the palm of his hand, then he would certainly make the most of the opportunity.

Rapidly, the pair had managed to narrow it down to a listen of three candidate cocktails (none of which Antonio had actually told him the name of, which made Francis wonder if he had just made them up on the spot).

Francis had been quite ready just to pick one at random, but Antonio had intervened and insisted upon making small tasters so that he could be sure to pick the right one. _A bad drink makes for a bad night_ , he had said, _and I don’t want you to have a bad night._ So naturally, how could he refuse the offer? _Leave it with me and I’ll sort you out_.

And sort him out, Francis wished he would.

He could only wait and watch patiently. How long had it been since he had sat down? It felt like ages, but no one had come to look for him, so it couldn’t have been that long… That, or he wasn’t being missed. _Ouch_ , best not to think such things. He didn’t need to make himself feel any worse.

His eyes drifted back easily to the brunette, back turned to the room as he was handing some of the (countless) bottles on the back counter. The song changed at some point and he made a gesture to the other man he was working with (he was a bit taller and his skin was a bit darker and his hair was a bit neater and his voice was a bit deeper and…) and said something short and snappy and foreign. Within seconds the music had been turned up and the pair were doing what Gilbert had called a ‘party’: they were singing along and having a laugh as they worked.

Two of the three smaller glasses that had been set aside for Francis had been filled when Antonio paused briefly as a hand was extended to him. He took it after only a momentary hesitation, and what followed next was a quick dance in time with the music, with simple steps and motions and a couple of turns as well for added flare – they were putting on a show! Francis had joined in with the clapping along to the rhythm, smiling and enjoying the view with the rest of the room. They had been right about these two: they really were in their element!

 _Basta_ , said Antonio with a laugh soon after, sending them both back to work after the exhibition, for which they were awarded some claps (which seemed to make one of them a bit flustered, _bless him_!). Evidently trying to ignore it, the brunette grabbed a couple bottles from the other side of the bar and continued to fix up the tasters he was preparing. Half of the things were substances Francis couldn’t name or even think up a new name for. Something clear, something pink, something yellow – it was like a witch brewing potions in tiny cauldrons. _A love potion wouldn’t go amiss_ , he mused to himself, but such a thing would be ridiculous.

After another minute and some foreign words and playful steps, Antonio finally presented Francis with his tray of goods, leaning once more against the bar. His colleague came by and rest a hand on his stretched back as he reached over to grab a lemon from a bowl, and he went again, Antonio throwing a smile and a _‘cuidado’_ (and a wink and a snort of laughter). Francis wondered for a minute if they were… More than just colleagues… Was that right? Did they look like _that_ together, like Emmeline and Erzsébet did? His thoughts were interrupted by an Antonio who had refocused his attention on him. _Ugh_ , those eyes were so gorgeous…

“I’m not going to tell you what’s what, because names are important and create bias,” Antonio said to him, “so I’ll roughly tell you the flavours and let you taste test from there.”

Francis simply nodded in dazed complacency. “I am ready when you are.” _That could have been worded differently._

At least Antonio seemed to pay the comment no mind, as he quickly went over the selection: “The one on the left is quite sweet, with a little sour lemon. In the middle, it’s more of an orange flavour with hints of vanilla. And then last,” he pointed, “you have a more subtle apricot flavour, complimented by pear and apple.”

“It sounds like you’ve given me an orchard,” Francis remarked, but it was in a way that emulated the other’s joy and commitment to the mission. He could tell he was passionate about this work, amongst other things, and he wasn’t going to let it go to waste. “Where should I start?”

“Wherever you like! There’s something I need to quickly do, so I’m gonna disappear for a couple minutes, but I’ll be right back, I promise!” Antonio said to him.

He flashed a big, bright smile and excused himself, passing his workmate as he went through presumably the staff door to the back area of the establishment. That left Francis to taste the three small samples on his own. He almost felt awkward, having to do it without there being that presence to guide him and talk to him, but he was sure it would only be weirder if Antonio returned to see a full tray.

So, off he went on his mini orchard-flavoured adventure. It was enjoyable while it lasted, though he was glad he had gone for the lemon one first because the tartness was swiftly overpowered by the next drink, rescuing his taste buds. As he set down the final glass, feeling rather satisfied, he gained some new company from across the bar: Antonio's fellow bartender. Oh.

"I see he's got you trapped at the bar with some of his signatures," the man noted with a rather hearty laugh, slinging a cloth over his shoulder. He had finished serving for the moment and had presumably taken the opportunity to have a chat, accent notably thicker than Antonio's. "You'd best watch yourself. He's got a tendency to talk a lot, but he means well."

"So I noticed," Francis replied with an amicable humour. "He's also generous and kind."

"Oh yeah, very."

He couldn't stop himself. "Are you two...?" _You know_...

The man looked at him as though he had grown a pair of donkey ears, before he burst into laughter, head slightly thrown back and hands clapping. Francis was relieved that everyone else in the vicinity was too wrapped up in their own private conversations to pay the sudden commotion any mind.

"That's hilarious, _acere_ , seriously!" he went on as his laughter petered. "But no way! He's my cousin, I'm pretty that would be wrong in more than one way, no?"

" _Cousin_?" It was the only word Francis hung onto. It was, on the one hand, a relief to have that information and know it for sure; however, it now made him look like a fool. He could only hope he could mend it his dignity. "That— That makes a little more sense. So, are you also one of the owners of this place?"

"You bet! Toni and I thought about it for a while, and after we finally found a way to buy this place, our beloved 'Cuba Libre' was born," the man explained to him. "It's not doing too bad, considering it's only been open for two months."

"You are Cuban, then, I'm assuming?"

“ _I_ am, yeah.”

“And Antonio?”

“Not an ounce of Cuban fire in him! Born in Spain, I forget where," he said with a light sigh, merely whimsical and distant. "But hey, now here we both are, living it up in England of all places. Mad world, right?"

“It is, indeed,” Francis concurred with a pensive hum. A silence fell between them for a short moment. “It seems you’ve done well for yourselves, though. You’ve drawn quite the crowd given how long you’ve been open.”

Antonio’s cousin nodded in agreement, a pang of pride striking him and lighting up his expression. “We’re just hoping it holds up. When we feel more comfortable, we’ll make it all a little neater around the edges; we’re still in our trial period.”

“I think you’ll both manage, there’s promise in this place,” the blonde reassured him with a gentle smile.

With perfect timing, the staff door opened and Antonio returned, which was apparently his cousin’s cur to part and leave them to it, absconding with the tray and used glasses to clear the side. Antonio cast him a look as he went, looking somewhat puzzled, before he turned to Francis and asked him how the tasting went. The blonde was not hesitant to share his opinion:

“The last one was the best – the one with apricot and apple,” he told him, and indulged in watching the other’s face light up with happiness and satisfaction. It always did feel good, making someone else smile. “I believe your cousin referred to them all as ‘signatures’, but I think have a favourite.”

“That’s so good to hear!” Antonio practically exploded. Okay, so, maybe Francis had done more than make him smile. “Máximo isn’t wrong, those ones are some of the better ones that I make. I hope—” He paused and went again, clasping his hands in front of his chest. “I hope he was behaving. He has a tendency to talk a lot.”

“Apparently, that runs in the family,” Francis remarked with a light laugh.

The brunette raised a brow slightly and looked to his cousin (who was, fortunately for him, was too busy serving to notice the soft glare being shot his way). “It’s a good job he doesn’t live with me. The cheeky _cabrón_ wouldn’t survive more than a week around me."

“It’s like that sometimes when you are close to someone. You can’t be close all the time,” the blonde mused. “Sometimes, you need that personal space and that personal time.”

“Which is why he lives a few blocks away with friends and I have the upstairs apartment to myself,” Antonio conceded, an easy smile returning to his face. “Don’t get me wrong, I love him to bits, but we’re too different at times. It reminds me of my b—... Ah, well, it doesn’t matter. I’d better make you that drink, huh? You’ve been sat here without one for long enough.”

As Antonio refocused himself (for the umpteenth time) on his work, Francis similarly returned to observing him… The way he gently wiped the new glass, the way he tucked the cloth away into the back pocket of his jeans, the way he carefully tossed and spun bottles as he lightly swayed and hummed to the music and dodged a chunk of lime that Máximo threw at him from the side and then laughed it off with him… Francis breathed out and was about to avert his eyes, when someone else saved him the effort. A hand came down on his shoulder, gentle and friendly, and he almost jumped out of his skin.

“There you are, Fran!” rang a familiar voice from behind him, and he turned his head to see Feliciano stood at his side. “We were wondering where you got to! Gilbert thought you might have made a friend or something like that and completely forgotten about us, but I told him that you would have come and told us before getting distracted like that, and Emmeline even backed me up but then Erszébet—”

“Feli, my gosh, stop and _breathe_ ,” the Frenchman said. Feliciano gave a meek laugh, apologising quietly. “I’m sorry I haven’t come back, I’ve been a bit… Occupied.”

That was the quick version.

“Oh?”

Francis made a lazy gesture with his hand to signal that he wasn’t going to say anything – not just yet – and his attention was stolen (once more, and so, so easily) by Antonio. The brunette had finished his drink and had turned to finish it off with a garnish, though it seemed he didn’t quite get that far before he stopped and looked between Francis and his friend. Francis wasn’t sure what to make of the blip, but he didn’t get more than three seconds to analyse it before Antonio snapped back to the present and set the glass down in front of the blonde. Feliciano’s hand suddenly felt a little bit heavier on his shoulder.

“There,” Antonio said with a jovial smile, nevertheless, “all done. I think we finally found the right, uh, _pairing_ for you.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Francis responded. No further words came from the bartender, however, and there was no way he was going to let an awkwardness settle when there was no reason for it. Instead, he gestured to his friend: “Antonio, this is Feliciano. We work together, but he’s also one of my closest friends.”

“Waot, so you _have_ been making friends without us? Gilbert was right!” Feliciano laughed airily as he nudged his dear friend, before extending his smile to Antonio. “It’s lovely to meet you!”

“And you,” Antonio smiled back. It didn’t seem to be quite as vibrant or full as his previous expressions. “Sorry for keeping him busy here. I— I didn’t realise he was here with anyone. I would have sent him on his way much sooner if I’d known!”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, it’s fine,” the Italian assured him, however. “As long as he’s keeping out of trouble!”

“I’m not a troublemaker. I am not _Gilbert,_ ” Francis simply protested. He tutted and rolled his eyes as he and Feliciano shared their amused laughter, but it did not seem that Antonio shared in their humour.

“Even so,” the brunette said, “you have good timing.” Green eyes met blue ones for a fleeting moment. “We just finished.”

For some reason, Francis didn’t like those words.

“In which case, can I order another drink?” Feliciano questioned. “I’m not sure if there’s a queue or—”

“Ah, no, you’re good,” Antonio nodded. He smiled and then smiled with his eyes, and just as the tension had arrived (tension only picked up on by Francis, that is) it had ebbed away again like the tide. “What can I get for you?”

“An espresso martini would be great, please!"

“ _Ya mismo,_ I gotcha.”

“Here,” Francis jumped in before Antonio darted off and got to work again. “I’ll get it for you, Feli. Go back and join the others,” he said to a quite content Italian, “and I’ll be there in a minute. Okay?”

“Sure thing, Fran!”

With a skip in his step (which was standard whenever Feliciano got food or drinks without having to open his own wallet) he went off on his way as he had been instructed, leaving Francis and Antonio on their own once more. Neither of them was able to push words out for a moment, stuck simply looking at each other. It was Antonio in the end who relented, caved, and gave a sigh. Without a smile on his face, he seemed like an entirely other person.

“You should have told me you were with people,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I feel bad! You came out with them and you haven’t even had a chance to sit and talk with them, probably…”

“Don’t be silly. I see them five days a week at a _minimum_ , so they can manage twenty minutes without me.” It didn’t seem to settle Antonio that much. “Really,” Francis insisted with a softer tone, “it’s okay. If I wanted to go back to them, I would have. But it’s been nice talking to you and I’ve had some fun, so there’s no problem. I’d stay here if it weren’t for them.”

That appeared to stick with him a bit more. Antonio gave a slow nod and let his lips curve slightly upwards, before he told Francis that he would make that drink for Feliciano. It was a relief that it had calmed and appeased him. For a moment, Francis had thought everything had crumbled apart but it was good to know that Antonio agreed with him – that he had valued the short encounter too.

Within moments, Antonio slid the finished espresso martini over to Francis and placed a couple of coffee beans on the frothy cream top.

“Beautifully done,” Francis smiled.

“Thank you,” Antonio smiled back. “Do you want a tab or would you prefer to pay for it now?”

“I’ll pay now. It means there will be one less thing I have to think about,” he replied. _More room to think of green eyes._

He pulled his wallet from his pocket and began to fish for notes and coins whilst Antonio slipped away and came back to fill out a receipt for him, scribbling away. Francis went to put a twenty on the bar (he had quickly given up the hunt for change) but he was stopped by a hand before he could set it down.

“Hang on,” Antonio said, “you have to see how much you’re being charged first.”

So Francis held back and waited patiently until Antonio had finished writing with his left hand (Francis didn’t know any left-handed people; he was pleasantly surprised), amused by the concentration on the other’s face. Adorable had certainly been the right word for him – adorable, sweet, kind, funny… And Francis had known him for no longer than half an hour of his life! Was he being a bit quick in his judgement? Yes. Well, maybe. But it didn’t matter – not to him.

Antonio ripped the receipt from the pad and passed the copy over to Francis. “There, _now_ you can pay,” he said, leaning on the bar side.

With a thanks, Francis looked to the piece of paper and— “Why is there only one drink on here? I’m pretty sure there are two in front of me, and that doesn’t even include the samples from before.”

“A sample is a sample,” Antonio brushed off, “and this one’s on the house.” He gestured to Francis’ own glass, but his eyes were fixed on the blonde. "Angel Face."

Now Francis felt like hewans the one becoming flustered and red-cheeked. Did—Was that—? 

"The cocktail," Antonio supplied, perhaps reading his (scarlet) expression. Or his mind. "That's what it's called in case you want another one later on."

Ah. That made sense. 

All the while, the bartender let his gaze flit away from Francis when the blonde had gone to smile at him again, and it fell upon the bery same pale drink. For a moment, he stared at the drink, and suddenly fiddled with something on the bar shelf that Francis couldn’t see. And then, out of nowhere, he put a mint leaf in the middle of the liquid.

“There we are," he said quietly. Now he looked back up once more. "Perfect..."

Shit, no, never mind— Dammit, if Francis stayed any longer he felt as though he would explode. Whether or not the other was activrly trying to flirt, he couldn't take it!

“That may be so… But now _I_ feel bad,” the blonde mumbled with an abashed smile. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

“Just— Take it. Call it a gift if it makes you feel better,” Antonio persisted. He surely would have understood the other’s hesitance, quite naturally, but Francis didn’t then want to offend him (or make him unhappy – a much worse offence) by turning him down. “Please?”

“Fine, fine, but my next drink had better be double the price,” Francis joked with him. “That, or I’ll go to your cousin instead of you.”

The jab was received with a laugh and a ‘we’ll see’. A bridge had been built on a night that Francis had expected to do nothing more than drink, laugh, gossip and go home feeling a lot more inebriated than before, and that felt good. As he went to pass the receipt over with the money, Antonio met him halfway and took what he had asked for, but left the receipt behind for Francis to take with him.

“If I were you, I’d take that with you and try not to lose it,” he advised.

The remark made Francis’ brows furrow slightly, and he went to look back at the receipt to see what was so special. When he realised what it was that made the paper so important – so vital – a silent ‘ah’ formed on his lips and Antonio gave a light hum as he smiled. They looked at each other, one with anticipation and the other with incredulity, and that was how they intended to leave it. Francis took up the piece of paper, slipped it into his pocket, and took both glasses in his hands.

“Thank you,” he said to the Spaniard. “Truly.”

“Text me when you get to the table safely,” came the reply as he began to walk off.

Francis didn’t need to say anything back. His head was already reeling and he was trying to understand anything that had happened in the last half hour and make sense of it. Somehow, he had gone from lamenting about loneliness to making an acquaintance (maybe something more) that had the potential to fill a hole he had felt in his heart since he was twenty-three. How had that even happened? He supposed he wouldn’t find out any time soon, however, so he gave up in his internal investigation to re-join his friends. _Finally._

“There he is!” Gilbert called out, just a tad too loud, as Francis reclaimed his seat next to him. “We thought you’d fallen down a rabbit hole, or gotten abducted by aliens!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, neither Wonderland nor extra-terrestrial life exists, Gil,” Francis chided with a tut. He passed Feliciano the drink he ordered and gave a content sigh, acclimatising to the outdoors once more. “Now, go on: what have I missed?”

“Well, basically, Gil told us this crazy story…”

The conversation fuzzed into the background as someone else’s words drifted through the Frenchman’s mind. He nodded to prove his engagement, letting Feliciano explain the significance of lollipop sticks, pink underwear and a skateboard, whilst in the meantime fishing for his phone and receipt in his pocket. He took them out and continued to listen as he added a new contact to his phone – just ‘Antonio’ – even adding a quiet ‘ _mhmm_ ’ to the ongoing chat to further evidence his presence.

But really, how could he focus on anything else? He began to type out a simple message to the Spaniard and eyed it, for a short second, before he hit send. ‘ _I made it to the table safely, don’t miss me too much x_ ’. Was it too forward, he wondered? Would the tone not translate over text? See, this was why talking to people in person was so much easier! You couldn’t edit what you said but at least you could make it clear and give it some feeling! Some emotion! Maybe this was why online dating had never worked for him, or why he had been asked to write less boring emails in the office—

A reply came through. Francis read it over and then over again to make sure he understood it and suddenly it felt warmer outside. Had someone turned up the setting on the heat lamps? ‘ _Good to hear! Btw, I sign off at 9 so if ur still here after that & want to chat more, I’ll be upstairs. Call me either way x’_. It took a few breaths for it to all fully compute, but it did, and _oh my god he is literally inviting me back to his place, even if it is on the same plot of land, oh my god oh my god oh my_ —

“You okay there, Franny?”

Gilbert’s voice was both a saviour and a devil.

“Mm? Yeah, I’m— I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Emmeline joined in. “You seem a little bit… Distracted?”

“Yeah, is there something you need to tell us?” Erzsébet chimed in, just to add salt to the wound. She was the only one who seem amused by his warmed cheeks and unusual quietness.

Francis shook his head and tried to deny that anything was wrong, not wanting to risk spoiling something he had had for barely a minute, but he didn’t get a chance. Because Feliciano being sweet, oblivious, innocent Feliciano beat him to it. Francis felt his heart jump up into his throat.

“He’s been chatting up one of the bartenders,” the Italian said casually, as if it were nothing to be surprised or amazed by. Okay, so, innocent was perhaps not the right word to describe him. More like _treacherous_. “I think I interrupted them…”

But while Feliciano went about taking a sip of espresso martini without a care in the world, the rest of the table was plunged into silence, all staring at Francis. And at once, in an even more startling fashion, they all demanded to know exactly what had happened at the bar. Was that why he had been gone so long? Which one was it? What was he like? What was his star sign? The questions made him want to implode. _Thank you, Feli._ It was good to have someone around he could rely on.

“Please, please!” Francis had to raise his voice to get the trio to quieten down and stop talking, and even then, he had to throw in a hard glare to make sure Gilbert _stayed_ quiet. “For the love of God, calm down! I talk to one person and suddenly, I’m front page news with all of you!”

“But, in all seriousness, Fran,” Emmeline cut in, tilting her head slightly and throwing him some puppy eyes to soften him up (which, naturally worked like a charm), “what happened?”

He could only swallow his pride. “I think,” he began slowly, eyes glancing back down to his phone, “I simply met someone quite special.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'll likely be writing a second chapter/part purely for the tipsy shenanigans to come. I love it (and them) too much not to, and I need some bad flirting, cheesy lines and spice™
> 
> All cocktails referenced here are actual cocktails. Flirtini included. Researching the important things, I am.


End file.
